


Chains in the Wind

by silvertrees



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Barduil - Freeform, Imprisonment, M/M, Slavery, Trafficking, bard will be around soon, elves are slaves, the harsher tags are not until later in teh story, this intro only has thran
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 05:32:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7788664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvertrees/pseuds/silvertrees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was not the life he had pictured for himself, a far cry from what his life had once been. Never would he have foreseen himself living like a caged animal, living among dirt and unclean hay, working until his legs gave out and his fingers cracked and bled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little drabble... I think I'll turn this into a series but Im unsure. We'll see how this goes! More Barduil and mature themes to come in later chapters!

In the tiny sliver of light stemming from the cracks in the old wood, the elf raised his hands. Icy blue eyes, tired, drained, looked upon the raw skin of his wrists, rubbed red from the ropes and chains that dragged him to each new destination.

This was not the life he had pictured for himself, a far cry from what his life had once been. Never would he have foreseen himself living like a caged animal, living among dirt and unclean hay, working until his legs gave out and his fingers cracked and bled. The elf longed to feel the sun upon his face and the wind in his hair, though he was nearly grateful to be stuck in this box, for his hair was now dirty and matted, and he wished to remember it as it once was, beautiful and envied, glittering in the sun.

The old wagon creaked underneath- the prisoner wondered how the rickety old thing could possibly carry all this weight for so long. When he had first laid eyes upon it, which had not been for very long, it looked like it would break apart if the wind blew just right. Now the elf wished that it would.

He and several other slaves, all of elven heritage, except for one little hobbit who must have bartered with the wrong man, had been dragged throughout Arda, going to various markets and auctions throughout the land. Their owners had been trying to sell them, but prices were high and times were hard, and elves were too much trouble for most.

Especially this one.

Oh, the record this elf had made the auctioneers roll their eyes. He was hostile, didn’t listen- He had nearly strangled his last owner in his sleep. The elf was wild, mad, they had said. The only reason he was still alive was his beauty, and the value of his status. One would love to have the former king of Mirkwood falling at their feet, ready to do their will.  
Thranduil, on the other hand, was anything but compliant.

It had cost him, too. There was a small piece of flesh cut from his ear from a brawl in which he narrowly escaped. He had been nearly starved, placed in isolation for weeks, kept away from the light, and from the stars he had so loved. He suffered most at the loss of his son, taken somewhere in the wilds, sold to a man of Gondorian descent. He would find him if it was the very last thing he ever did. His son would be free, this wretched body of his own did not matter, not anymore.

“Beauty.”

The voice was gruff, the elf wrinkling his nose and pulling his gaze away from his throbbing wrists to look over in the direction of the voice. It was a guard, one of his owner’s henchmen who Thranduil actually preferred less than the owner himself. Risnar was a brutish looking man with even more brutish actions, enjoying to hurt first and ask questions later. He was a perverted old mess, smelling of whiskey and vomit, and the very fact that he called Thranduil by such a pet name made the elf repulse.

“Beauty- I’m talkin’ ta ya.”

“I am waiting for you to speak,” Thranduil replied curtly, thankful that his eye roll was shielded in the dim light of the moving crate, else he would have earned himself a hit. He leaned himself back against the rotting wood, closing his eyes and wincing when the entire wagon jerked from a large bump in the road.

“You better be a good little fairy ta-day,” Risnar smirked, knocking loudly on the wood for no other reason than to create a bothersome noise. “Master’s been talkin’ about ya. Says ya need ta learn your place in the worlds.”

“And pray tell me where that is, exactly.”

Oh, his mouth always seemed to get him into such trouble. It was hardly Thranduil’s fault- It was the only thing he had left, the only thing he really had control over anymore. His words.

Risnar laughed, and the sound of such sickening cheer was enough to make the elf’s stomach lurch, and he raised his knees to comfort himself.

“S’at the very bottom, little fairy,” The man smiled, his breath permeating through the wood, the blond shielding himself away, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Little? I am bigger than you,” The elf muttered, gasping in surprise as Risnar kicked the wooden panel directly behind Thranduil’s head.

“If ya don’t behave today, we’s gunna show you,” The man grinned, going back to his spot at the very edge of the wagon, ensuring everything stayed in place. “We’re gunna show you exactly how small ya really are.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The midday sun was shining high and bright in the sky, Bard pulling his hood further over himself as he walked closer to the makeshift podium. A crowd was beginning to gather in the muddied clearing, pigs with dirty money in piss stained pockets.

The midday sun was shining high and bright in the sky, Bard pulling his hood further over himself as he walked closer to the makeshift podium. A crowd was beginning to gather in the muddied clearing, pigs with dirty money in piss stained pockets.

When the rebellion happened, when the world seemed to fall apart at the foundation, the elves in power were the first to be attacked. Lothlorien had been the very first to fall, and an ungodly sorrow hung heavy in the air as word spread of the Lord and Lady’s slaying. There was no hope then, only a dreadful wait for it all to be over.

Bard recalled everything- The last time he had fallen asleep with his elf by his side, his face buried in silver hair. He remembered the calm before the storm, whispered nothings and making passionate love through the night. Perhaps his love knew what was coming for them- of course he knew. It was inevitable.

They had attacked with fire, the burning ashes of the forest turning the sky black with thick smoke. The trees wailed and cracked in agony, forest animals running into nowhere, trying desperately to escape the inferno that consumed them all. Bard would never forget the look upon Thranduil’s face as he watched Mirkwood fall. It broke his heart to even think about it, even now after all this time.

Bard blinked- pulled out of his dark thoughts by the subtle clanking of chains. A fat elderly man was pushing through the crowd of people, pulling roughly on a chain. The other end was attached to a small elf, malnourished and gasping for breath as he clutched at the iron clasp around his neck, stumbling barefoot through the muck.

Bard clenched his fists but tried to contain his anger- He needed to remain calm and not get locked up again. He couldn’t afford another missed opportunity.  
The old man was grumbling to a nearby merchant, hoping to trade the elf during the auction.

“Hes branded,” The merchant commented, assessing the nearly emancipated elf as though he were cattle. “That cuts ‘is value in half.”

“The damned thing kept runnin’,” The old man growled, giving the elf a slap on the back of the head in frustration, the little woodling whining pitifully.

Bard had to force himself to look away, stopping himself from going over there and making a scene. His head was pounding and bile rose up in his throat, but he stayed still, waiting….waiting.

“The new shipment’ll be in soon ‘nuff,” The merchant continued, looking up at the sun to guess the time. “You can see then if they will trade ya.”

Bard’s attention was back at that comment, and he moved ever closer, getting as close as he possibly could to the wooden corral where the slaves would be kept during the auction. He needed to stay focused. He needed to get him back.


End file.
